HUGH. Look here, Booth . . I will not have you interfering with my private affairs. Is one never to be free from your bullying? BOOTH. You ought to be grateful. HUGH. Well, I'm not. BOOTH. This is a family affair. HUGH. It is not! BOOTH. [_at the top of his voice._] If all you can do is to contradict me, you'd better listen to what I've got to say . . quietly. HUGH, _quite shouted down, flings himself petulantly into a chair. A hush falls._ EMILY. [_in a still small voice._] Would you like me to go, Booth? BOOTH. [_severely._] No, Emily. Unless anything has been going on which cannot be discussed before you . . [_then more severely still._] and I hope that is not so. HUGH. [_muttering rebelliously._] Oh, you have the mind of a . . cheap schoolmaster! BOOTH. Why do you wish to separate? HUGH. What's the use of telling you? You won't understand. BEATRICE. [_who sews on undisturbed._] We don't get on well together. BOOTH. [_amazedly._] Is that all? HUGH. [_snapping at him._] Yes, that's all. Can you find a better reason? BOOTH. [_with brotherly contempt._] I have given up expecting common sense from you. But Beatrice--! [_his tone implores her to be reasonable._] BEATRICE. It doesn't seem to me any sort of sense that people should live together for purposes of mutual irritation. BOOTH. [_protesting._] My dear girl! . . that sounds like a quotation from your last book. BEATRICE. It isn't. I do think, Booth, you might read that book . . for the honour of the Family. BOOTH. [_successfully side-tracked. ._ ] I have bought it, Beatrice, and-- BEATRICE. That's the principal thing, of course-- BOOTH. [_. . and discovering it._] But do let us keep to the subject. BEATRICE. [_with flattering sincerity._] Certainly, Booth. And there is hardly any subject that I wouldn't ask your advice about. But upon this . . do let me know better. Hugh and I will be happier apart. BOOTH. [_obstinately._] Why? BEATRICE. [_with resolute patience, having vented a little sigh._] Hugh finds that my opinions distress him. And I have at last lost patience with Hugh. MRS. VOYSEY. [_who has been trying to follow this through her spectacles._] What does Beatrice say? BOOTH. [_translating into a loud sing-song._] That she wishes to leave her husband because she has lost patience! MRS. VOYSEY. [_with considerable acrimony._] Then you must be a very ill-tempered woman. Hugh has a sweet nature. HUGH. [_shouting self-consciously._] Nonsense, mother. BEATRICE. [_shouting good-humouredly._] I quite agree with you, mother. [_she continues to her husband in an even just tone._] You have a sweet nature, Hugh, and it is most difficult to get angry with you. I have been seven years working up to it. But now that I am angry, I shall never get pleased again. _The Major returns to his subject, refreshed by a moment's repose._ BOOTH. How has he failed in his duty? Tell us. I'm not bigoted in his favour. I know your faults, Hugh.